Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.)

by Maggie Furey

  The hooded one led the way into the hills, and as they went, Dael noticed that the sky was now glittering with unfamiliar stars. Gradually the silvery, silken mist vanished from around his feet, and he found himself walking on short, springy turf, in the midst of a silence so profound that it set up a hollow roaring in his ears. As he trudged on he found that the memories of his past, of his friends and the danger they were in, were slipping away from him. He tried to recall the exhilaration of his first, wild, airborne ride courtesy of Corisand’s flying spell, the delicate, chiselled bone structure of Iriana’s proud and rather serious face, the vivid blue of Melik’s eyes, but they eluded him, as though he were trying to hold on to mist. Even his physical body seemed less substantial. When he lifted his hands his flesh seemed to have a shimmering translucency, and he could discern the faint outlines of the horizon through the transfigured flesh. Nothing was as it should be, and the strangeness twisted in his guts like a knife.

  Dael felt as if his old life was being sloughed away – save for one solitary anchor to reality. Athina did not leave him. Even as his other memories became more vague and evanescent, her face stood out with greater clarity in his mind, her glorious eyes kind and loving, her voice low and musical, her arms outstretched to hold him tightly and prevent him from slipping away. Whatever this place was, it seemed to have no power over his benefactress, and as he clung to every remembrance of their life together like a talisman, the images of his other companions became clear and bright once more.

  Somehow, Dael knew that he mustn’t let his strange guide know that he’d been able to hold on to his old life despite all compulsion to forget. He continued to stumble along like a sleepwalker, keeping his eyes unfocused and his expression as slack and blank as he could possibly make it.

  After some indefinable time, his eyes latched on to something new in the unchanging, monotonous landscape of curving hillsides and shadowy vales. On the brow of the nearest swelling rise was a darker shadow which, as he drew closer, resolved itself into a small copse of gnarled and ancient trees, their knotted, tangled boughs forming a seemingly impenetrable barrier. As the hooded figure approached, however, he lifted his staff on high, and the trees straightened, standing proud and tall, lifting their branches high in an arch to form a path into the unseen mysteries of the centre.

  Dael did not want to enter, but that uncanny compulsion that had dominated him for all of this strange journey still held him in thrall. It drove him on, following in the footprints of his guide as they passed between the ranks of trees. Finally they came to the heart of the grove. Here the land dropped into a slight hollow, which cupped a pool of dark and shining water, with the trees thronging close all around its mossy banks, as though standing guard and protecting it with their overhanging boughs. Though Dael no longer held the Fialan, enough of its power remained coursing through his mind and body to tell him that this place was alive with an unearthly magic: an oddly alien force, unlike anything that either Corisand or Iriana could conjure. It hummed in his ears, tingled on his skin and surged like a tide in his blood, reminding him of Athina: it felt like, and yet unlike, her power, but the similarity was sufficient to let him cling to that slender thread of familiarity like a drowning man clutching tightly to a rope.

  Dael was so caught up in the mystery of this place that he had almost forgotten his guide – until a sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him start, and take an involuntary step backward. The hooded stranger had turned towards him, and now raised the silvery lantern high. For a frozen moment the two of them stood in tableau and, though he could see nothing but darkness within the shadows of the cowl, the young man was aware of an intense scrutiny by the unseen eyes whose stare seemed to brand his flesh as though someone had held a candle flame to his skin.

  Suddenly, Dael felt a stab of annoyance. Why, this – this being was nothing but a coward to stare so hard at him, while hiding its own face within that hood. Boldly he glared back, and had the unpleasant sensation that he had locked eyes with the shrouded figure. He refused to give in, however, but held his ground, unwilling to turn his eyes away. He was no longer the beaten, lowly, terrified human slave he had once been: he was Athina’s protégé now, and the friend of Wizard and Windeye. He had held in his hand the Stone of Fate itself, and known more power than any of his race had ever experienced before . . . Gritting his teeth, he maintained the deadly tension of the two linked stares, and stoutly refused to give in.

  Abruptly the tension broke, and Dael felt a surge of triumph as the other looked away. Though he could hardly believe he had beaten this mysterious, powerful being, his elation turned to dread as a chilling hiss came from the depths of the cowl. The figure gestured towards the pool and, for the first time, spoke. Its voice was like a blade that flayed Dael’s flesh, like spiders crawling in his blood, like the raw, chill darkness of the cruellest winter’s night.

  ‘So brave for a mortal. Bold indeed – but that will avail you nothing in this place, between the worlds, at the Well of Souls. Brave or craven, soon or late, all must pass this way in the end – yes, even one who has known power far beyond the wildest imaginings of your pitiful kind.’

  He gestured once more towards the pool, and spoke again. ‘All the magic of the Fialan cannot help you now, little mortal. All that is past and gone, a part of the lifetime that is over. You have passed into my realm now, the realm of Death. You must abandon your old existence, your old memories, your old loves and ties, much as a serpent sheds its skin. You must forget them all for ever, and enter the Well of Souls, that you might be reborn into a new and different life.’

  Dael stood frozen in horror. Abandon his friends? Lose even his recollections of them, for ever? Even the precious memory of Athina?

  ‘Never!’ he shouted. ‘I won’t desert my friends. I won’t forget Athina – not ever! And I won’t go into your accursed pool – suppose we stay here till the end of time!’

  Death gave a sinister chuckle. ‘Oh, will you not?’ he said softly. ‘Well, you are the most amusing mortal to have passed this way in many a long age – but enough is enough. What makes you think you have a choice, you lowly little human? Beings far greater and more powerful than you have been forced to pass this way, and none have bested me yet, or escaped their fate. I tire of this nonsense. You will go into the Well.’

  Without warning he advanced on Dael, suddenly grown taller; towering, menacing, looming above the quaking mortal. Dael took a hasty step backwards, and turned to flee – but there was no escape. He ran head first into some kind of invisible barrier and fell to the ground, half-dazed. It was as if a wall had been constructed around the Well of Souls, leaving him with nowhere to go but into those sinister dark depths.

  Unable to reach the trees, and with nothing else to hold on to, Dael dropped to his knees and dug his hands as hard as he could into the soft, yielding moss around the pool. ‘I – won’t – go,’ he shouted. ‘I won’t!’

  The spectre let out a snarl, and dropped his staff and lantern. He swooped down on the desperate young man, arms outstretched to grasp and hold. His long, bony fingers dug into Dael’s flesh like iron talons, hauling him bodily from the ground with terrifying strength and lifting him high in the air. Dael writhed and twisted in a last, hopeless attempt to escape his fate, but his efforts only made his tormentor hold on tighter and intensified the pain. Death swung him backwards, preparing to throw him down into the Well of Souls . . .

  ‘Athina, help!’ Dael cried. ‘Help me, please!’

  ‘I am here.’ Her beautiful voice came out of nowhere; strong, calm, kind. Dael opened his eyes to see her standing on the brink of the pool, between Death and the water. She had grown tall as the towering spectre, but her form was less solid: she appeared shimmering, wraithlike and translucent – but at least she was there, and Dael dared to hope at last.

  ‘Put him down, my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘This one is mine.’

  ‘Step aside, Cailleach,’ the spectre snarled, but he l
owered the young man and set him on the ground between them. Dael wanted to run to Athina, but he found he could not move. To his frustration he was forced to remain rooted to the spot, though she was almost near enough to touch.

  ‘All mortals in this place belong to me,’ he went on. ‘You have no power here, and you may not intervene.’

  ‘This mortal is special, Siris. He has lived under my protection—’

  ‘Oh, so this is your little pet,’ Death sneered.

  A flash of anger, glimpsed then gone, lit Athina’s eyes. ‘So Uriel has been here. I might have guessed.’

  ‘He has. And he told me he had exiled you into your own realm, beneath the Timeless Lake.’

  ‘Exiled? I may be prevented from entering the living worlds that my other siblings wrought – for the present, at least.’ From the grim tone of her voice, Dael suspected that she did not intend to tolerate that obstacle for ever. ‘However, this place is different, is it not?’ she continued. ‘Here there is neither life nor death, it is betwixt and between. Your realm is a gateway, Siris, and you are its keeper – and such portals hold a special power all their own.’

  ‘And who knows that better than I?’ Siris snapped. ‘You may have been able to come here, Athina, and it is glad I am to see you – but it changes nothing. The mortal has come into my realm now, and is no longer yours but mine.’

  ‘Not quite, my brother. No mortal has passed as Dael has passed, filled with the extraordinary magic of the Stone of Fate. Though its power proved too much for his frail mortal frame he is still linked to it, bound to it. He must return.’

  Dael felt a sickening wrench of disappointment, as though someone had punched him hard in the gut. For a wonderful moment he had hoped, oh how he’d hoped, that Athina had come for him, that she might take him with her. But it was clearly not to be.

  ‘This cannot be true.’ For the first time, Death sounded unsure.

  ‘Can it not?’ Athina smiled grimly. ‘Would you care to put it to the test, my brother? Do you dare? For if Dael is catapulted into another world, still linked to the power of the Fialan, there will be such an explosion of energy as will destroy the Well of Souls for ever. And then what will happen to the dead, whose fates are in your keeping?’ Her voice became softer, more cajoling. ‘Those beings who must pass from one life to another, leaving all they have come to know and love, may see you as evil, Siris, but you are not. On the contrary, you are their guardian, and your role is vital to their continuance. When the rest of us were busy fashioning our worlds and populating them with life, only you gave thought to what would happen to the living essences of our creations once their mortal shells had perished, or had been destroyed by some sort of misadventure. You realised that we could not carry on indefinitely, creating living souls from the very energy of the Cosmos, and you were also the first to realise that life, once created, can never be destroyed.’

  She smiled at him, her eyes soft with memories. ‘How you were mocked by your siblings, for not creating worlds as the rest of us did. You were derided as lazy, as stupid, incompetent – particularly by Uriel, as I recall – yet none of them ever saw that what you were creating here was a vital foundation of all that they achieved.’

  ‘You never mocked me.’ For the first time, Dael was sure he had heard a softening in the spectre’s voice. ‘You always understood what I was about.’

  ‘And because I do understand, you must realise that I do not make this request of you lightly. It is not only that I came to love this mortal above all others – it is for the sakes of all his kind, and all those other beings who use the Well of Souls. What will become of them all if the Well is destroyed? This is not a situation that any of us could have foreseen, my brother. Dael is tied to his world by a power not of our creating. He must return there, and remain until that power sets him free.’

  Though the spectre’s face still remained hidden, once more Dael became aware of his intense scrutiny. Long moments passed, and them Death sighed, and shrank down to normal size. ‘Very well, Athina. It shall be as you say. I dare not risk the destruction of the Well of Souls. When your mortal enters the waters, I will return him to his own world forthwith.’

  A great tension seemed to go out of Athina, and she too let herself return to the same height as the others. ‘Thank you, Siris. Thank you for believing me.’ Her mouth twisted wryly. ‘You were always a better listener than Uriel.’

  ‘I always loved you better, my sister.’ There was such sudden, unexpected warmth in that dry and dusty voice that Dael stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. ‘And I was never jealous of you, as he was,’ Siris continued. ‘For what it is worth, I informed him that he was wrong and presumptuous to exile you as he did, that he had no right to do so, and that he should mind his own affairs instead of interfering in yours.’

  He shrugged. ‘Uriel always did take entirely too much upon himself, and we have never seen eye to eye on anything, that I can remember. He hates that you have always been a better Creator than he. Oh, he is good with structure: rock and stone he knows, the foundations and the bones of worlds – but you, with your innate compassion and sympathy, always understood the interlinking web of life, in all its diverse and amazing complexity. Uriel’s attempts to emulate what you do were never quite adequate.’ He shrugged again. ‘Consider the Moldai, for example. Are they mountains? Giants? Do they really belong in the Elsewhere, or in the mundane realms? Consider the Dwelven, or their servants of old the Gaeorn, those monstrous rock eaters with the mandibles of diamond. All exist apart from the plants and forest, birds, beasts and the higher, more complex forms of life that you created. He could never achieve a fraction of the wonders you have wrought. He lacks the skill, the patience – and, most importantly, the heart. You pour your love into all of your creations, Athina. You hold back nothing, and it shows. Even this insignificant mortal . . .’

  ‘This one is far from insignificant.’ Athina went to Dael, and suddenly her form became less ethereal. As she put her arms around him, he could feel the living, vibrant warmth of her, just as he had of old.

  ‘He looks the same as all the rest to me,’ Siris said.

  Athina hugged Dael again. ‘Some things were simply meant to be,’ she said. As they embraced, he felt her slip something into his pocket, and spoke directly into his mind, something she had never done before. ‘When you enter the Well, fill this vial with the water. Keep it secret. Keep it safe. These waters have many strange powers. Who knows, they may bring you back to me one day.’

  Dael gasped, his hope blossoming anew – then he saw warning in her eyes and the barely perceptible shake of her head.

  ‘Don’t count on it,’ she was telling him, as clearly as if, once again, she had put the words into his mind. ‘Don’t hope too much.’

  His heart sank again, yet now, at least, he had a faint spark of hope to sustain him through the sorrow of another parting.

  Siris, looking at them, sighed. ‘Enough,’ he said gruffly. ‘Finish saying goodbye to your pet, Athina. I will send him back, and perhaps we can put this unfortunate business behind us.’

  Athina nodded and stepped back. ‘Farewell, brave Dael,’ she said softly. ‘Do not lose heart. All will be well.’

  ‘Farewell,’ Dael answered. If she believed him to be brave, then brave he would be, and if she told him all would be well, he would trust her. Taking a deep breath, he approached the dark and silent pool – and stopped abruptly, as searing beams of light fountained up from its surface. But all would be well. Athina had promised him. Shielding his eyes from the brilliant light with his hand, he stepped to the brink, knelt, looked down into the Well of Souls – and gasped.

  Beneath the unruffled surface of those deceptive waters was a dizzying vortex, a spinning whirlpool of stars that swirled endlessly down into infinity. He tried to draw back, but the Well had caught him. The whirling took hold of him, drawing him downward until suddenly he toppled into the water, which closed over his head. The vortex was pulling him downw
ard, and Dael know he only had an instant in which to act. He snatched Athina’s little vial from his pocket and pulled out the stopper, replacing it quickly and hoping that the vial had time to fill. Then all at once he was slamming back into his body with a shattering force that sucked a huge, wheezing gulp of air into his lungs, like the first breath of a newborn. His eyes flew open in shock – and there he was, back in the cave.

  20

  ~

  MIXED FEELINGS

  As she struggled to maintain her shields against the Phaerie, Corisand felt everything slipping away from her. ‘How does it feel to lose?’ the Phaerie leader taunted. ‘For you’ve lost already. How else do you think we found you here? Lady Tiolani exposed your little nest of plotters and gave us the location of your secret lurking place, and once we’ve taken you, we’ll have you all. You’re weakening, you’re beaten, and you know it. Soon you’ll find out what it means to cross the Phaerie!’

  Corisand gasped. He had to be speaking the truth. Tiolani had betrayed them all! And what of Taine and Aelwen? Imprisoned? Tortured? Dead? What of Iriana? Gone, captured, at the mercy of a pitiless enemy. Dael . . . Grief and guilt wrenched at her heart. Destroyed by the power of the Fialan, Dael was gone too, on a darker and more lonely road. She need not glance down at the crumpled form that lay grey-faced and still at her feet to know that he was dead. She had asked him to hold on to the Stone for longer than he could bear, and she had killed him. And for what?

  She had lost the Stone of Fate when Dael succumbed, and could no longer use its power to help her. It had rolled away somewhere when it fell from his hand: into some hole or crevice, probably, since she could no longer see its glow. Forced to give all her concentration to her shield, she was unable to search for it – but the Phaerie had seen it now, and had sensed its power. Once she was vanquished, they would have all the time in the world to find it, for without the Stone, she was losing the battle. The Phaerie were too many for her. They could just keep on wearing away at her, until she faded through hunger or thirst, or they finally sapped her strength.